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Bella was expecting to be slightly late to math class. This is not math class, but it seems like the sort of thing she ought to be later to math class in order to investigate. In she stalks, ready for something to jump out at her, wondering if she ought to pull a stake out of her bag.

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The door closes behind her, and opens again immediately to admit a short boy in drab clothing who was not anywhere nearby on the other side.

He sees Bella.

He says: "The fuck, now?"

The door closes again.
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Bella whirls around. She squints at him.

"Okay," she says, "innocent bystander, witch, demon, other?" Her hand hovers near her bag. "If you tell me innocent bystander and it turns out you're not I will be irritated."

She looks like a shorter, shorter-haired, heirloom version of Linyabel, dressed in fantastically outdated Earth fashion and a ponytail.
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"No," says Mark, "override, you tell me why you look like a shitty knockoff of my brother's wife."

There is a certain unworried cast to his posture that might be faintly familiar. It is the stance of someone who recognizes that Bella is about to pull a weapon and isn't especially concerned about what will happen if she does.
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"Do you often get people to answer your questions like that?"

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"Do you often get people to answer your questions by subtly threatening them with bodily harm?"

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"Pretty often, actually."

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"How convenient for you. Your question is nearly meaningless to me and I suspect you feel the same about mine. Shall we proceed with or without violence?"

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"Rather not stagger late into math class with someone's blood all over me, especially if yours is red and I can't pass it off as a disaster in the art room. My question could be rephrased as: are you a human, and did you do," she gestures at the bar, "this thing?"

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"Yes for most working definitions, and definitely not. My question doesn't rephrase so easily, but if you don't recognize me you might not be able to answer it anyway."

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"I don't recognize you - should I? Are you famous? - but you know sometimes people just look alike for no obvious reason."

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"Yes," he says, "and sometimes there is a clone substitution plot instead. The way you look like Linyabel is definitely more clone than coincidence, although it's not quite exactly clone."

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"I'm pretty sure I'm not a clone and I hang out with a guy who might be able to tell kind of a lot, never met anybody named Linyabel, and have no plans to substitute for anybody."

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"I am a clone." He sweeps an ironic bow. "Mark Pierre Vorkosigan. Fascinated to meet you. Not especially famous, but anyone meant to replace my sister-in-law would have to know what her husband looked like."

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"Man, why do I keep running into clones? I'm Bella Swan."

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"Just your luck, I suppose. Who was the first one?"

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"My boyfriend's a clone."

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"Congratulations."

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"Is having a British accent a clone thing, I wonder."

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"I can't imagine how you'd expect that to be true," he says. "I grew up in London. When I'm mimicking my brother," he adopts Miles's Barrayaran accent, "I sound like this."

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"I have no explanation for why it would be a pattern, but it's two for two, and Sherlock didn't grow up in London, he grew up with an AI who spoke in a British accent and picked up that accent instead of Tony's."

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"Sherlock," says Mark. He feels the way Miles feels looking at him.

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"That's... his name. What, do you know someone named Sherlock in addition to having a sister-in-law who is apparently the shinier version of me?"

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"And, to clarify, does he have this name by coincidence or was it a deliberate reference on someone's part? If so, whose?"

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"Oh, his own, he adopted the character when Tony neglected to supply him with a name."

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"Right," says Mark. "See, I didn't grow up Mark. I grew up Miles - called by his name and made to study every available datum on his life. It inspired a certain kinship, the first time I read those stories - the process of extrapolating from limited information was very familiar to me. I even snuck out to the museum once."

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